


floating.

by kauket_616



Series: neil josten is real. [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, hopefully, its gonna get bad before it gets good, my first andreil fic and its straight up angst, not really sure what to put here folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 11:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15071993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kauket_616/pseuds/kauket_616
Summary: Neil Josten is fine. He is fine because he knows no other way to be.They say it’s okay not to be fine (Dan and Matt and Renee and Nicky and Allison and Abby and and and). But Neil thinks this is only because they don't know how often he is not fine--so not fine that the only things that keep him from running off the edge of the earth are brokered deals, exy, hazel eyes, and yes, yes, always yes.





	floating.

Neil Josten is fine. He is fine because he knows no other way to be.  
They say it’s okay not to be fine (Dan and Matt and Renee and Nicky and Allison and Abby and and _and_ ). But Neil thinks this is only because they don't know how often he is not fine--so not fine that the only things that keep him from running off the edge of the earth are brokered deals, exy, hazel eyes, and _yes, yes, always yes._  
But today that isn't enough. Neil knew he wasn't fine the second he opened his eyes to the smell of blood stinging his nostrils and his scars tingling and itching in their need to break free from a canvas of pain and desperation, of overworked muscles and weary bones.  
Neil _knows_ he's not fine. But that doesn't stop him from going through the motions. From pretending to be Neil Josten just like he pretended to be Alex and Stephan and Chris and James and and _and_.  
He wonders if he was ever really anybody. If he was ever even Nathaniel. Because Nathaniel was just a scared rabbit of a boy (man?) with a too sharp smile and violent tendencies when backed into a corner. He wasn't Nathaniel, right?  
Maybe he was Abram. Abram who was neither here nor there. Abram who existed between worlds and realms, a shadow of the man(boy?) that he thought he could be.  
Maybe he was Neil. Maybe he was Abram. Maybe he was both. Maybe he was Alex or Stefan or Chris or James or or _or_.  
Maybe. Maybe not.  
#  
Neil, or the man wearing Neil's skin, thinks life is better this way. Easier. Being present, but not really. He is suddenly envious of Andrew in a way he's never been before. Jealous of a man who feels so little or maybe just not to the degree of which Neil (Abram? Stefan? Chris? James?) feels so much, too much. Because at the edge of his nothingness is panic, but he pushes it down, so far down that he can almost forget it's even there (almost).  
“Staring,” Andrew says.  
His voice matches his almost never changing face. He and Andrew are opposites, he realizes. Andrew is steady while he is always changing, accumulating new scars and burns as if he just _couldn't_ help himself. (Suddenly, his mind blanks. He cannot think of a time where he did help himself. Where he wasn't being saved or protected or shielded).  
He looks away. It is the least he can do. He grabs his racquet and meets a scowling Kevin on the court.  
#  
He isn’t quite sure why he regrets saying yes. _Yes or no?_ Andrew had asked him. He said yes because honestly, why wouldn’t he? Even being distinctly not fine, he knew that Andrew would never hurt him. Andrew would never hurt Neil. He knew this like he knew that the sky was blue, Riko was dead, and his mother’s bones and ashes were buried on some west coast beach. So he really isn’t quite sure when minutes ago he was nearly bowing over in relief of Andrew taking over, that he now feels the bitter pill of regret lodging in his throat.  
_I am King. You are nothing. You are nobody. You belong on your knees like the scum you are_.  
No. I am Neil Josten ( _Stefan? Alex? Chris? Sam?_ )  
_You belong on your knees_.  
He looks down and sure enough there he is, shaky knees digging into carpet. He knifes up, heads towards the kitchen.  
_You are nothing_.  
He shakes his head and wipes himself off with shaky hands and damp paper towels. Trashes them. Pulls up his sweatpants.  
_This? This is nothing_.  
He comes to a standstill. He, whoever he is, whatever he is or isn’t, he doesn’t know what to do. Who to turn to.  
_You are not fine and nothing is going to be okay_.  
He is not fine. Nothing was going to be okay. He needed to run. He needed to go, go, go. Because his body and mind were warring with him and he did not have the weapons or the armor to defend himself.  
_Run or die, Abram. Those are our only options. Time to grow the fuck up_.  
Neil ~~Alex, Stefan, Chris, James, Nathaniel~~ grabs his shoes. He vaguely registers Andrew at the windowsill, stick in hand and tendrils of smoke curling around his face like they couldn’t resist not touching him. He knew the feeling.  
“Couldn’t wait?” Andrew says, gesturing at Neil’s (?) sweatpants.  
He doesn’t respond, too focused on the task of jamming his shoes onto his bare feet.  
Then: He jolts up, shoes in place with half a mind to say, “Going for a run.”  
He’s halfway through the dorm when he hears, “Neil.”  
He doesn’t recognize the name.  
#  
He doesn’t stop running. His mother would kill him if he stopped running. ~~Good thing his mother is dead~~. His mind would beat her to it.  
He’s running and running and running and the panic isn’t dancing at the edge of his nothingness anymore. It is here and it has consumed him until it’s all he is. Just panic and nothing and racing legs.  
Nothing. He was nothing. He was nobody. He didn’t exist. He didn’t want to exist, but at the same time, he very much wanted to.  
_You are nothing. You are nobody. You belong on your knees like the scum you are_.  
He crashes to the ground, knees first, unconscious of the gravel and granite and loose rock digging into him. ~~He was not a him. He was nothing. He was scars and burns, wrapping too tight over a mess of bones and warm flesh.~~  
There was a fierce pain in his chest and some vile mixture of nausea and anxiety in his belly that made him want to heave until there was nothing left but hollow organs.  
_Chin up, Junior. It’s not that bad. What would your daddy say?_  
His scars are roaming his skin, looking for a way out and he doesn’t know what to do. Who to call. Andrew?  
_This? This is nothing_.  
And it hits him like it should’ve hit him like any other time Andrew said it. Andrew was not a liar. Neil ~~Alex, Stefan, Chris, James, Nathaniel~~ had just chosen to gloss over it and take what he could from what he was given. And that was okay. It was fine (even though he was far from fine).  
_This? This is nothing_.  
_You are nothing. You are nobody_.  
What he and Andrew had was nothing. He was nothing;he was nobody. He had to handle this himself. Because someday Andrew would leave him to find a someone and they’d have something. Because ~~Neil~~ was nothing but a canvas of trauma and Andrew deserved better.  
So he did his breathing techniques and tried to clear his mind, but all he saw was black and red, blades and handcuffs, bared teeth and unchecked smiles. He wishes this weren’t his life, but wishes were for kids.  
_Time to grow the fuck up_.  
This was all he was and he couldn’t escape.  
_Kneel_.  
_Shut up and lie down_.  
_Don’t flinch_.  
_Hello, Junior_.  
_I’m going to make this as terrible as I know how_.  
A phantom hand on his neck, pushing his head down between his knees.  
_Stop it_.  
Deep breath. In. Out. It stutters.  
_Stop it_.  
In. Out.  
_Stop it_.  
In….Out…  
_Breathe, Josten_.  
He breathes. He looks up. It’s dark out. He’s on his knees in an unfamiliar parking lot. Even so, he’s sure he can find his way home.

**Author's Note:**

> cliffhanger but not really.  
> part 2 coming soon.


End file.
